


you know you're gonna be remembered for the things that you say and do

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brandon’s seven, he and his brother get a treehouse for Christmas.</p><p>It’s pretty much the best present ever.</p><p>[Eight snapshots of a relationship, framed by the same beat-up old treehouse]</p>
            </blockquote>





	you know you're gonna be remembered for the things that you say and do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brandonsaad (createadisaster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/gifts).



> look, how about we all just accept that i'm gonna keep writing saad/sharp until all of y'all start reading it, okay?
> 
> the title is from bugsy malone because i watched it with my little sister today and everyone can shut up
> 
> part six of jenna's epic amazing super awesome holiday present
> 
> follow me on tumblr for a) hockey and b) saad/sharp

i.

When Brandon’s seven, he and his brother get a treehouse for Christmas.

It’s pretty much the best present ever.

George immediately declares himself the King, and makes Brandon Crown Prince.

Just after Christmas, there are moving trucks down the block, and a dark haired boy about George’s age is suddenly standing underneath the tree.

‘Cool treehouse,’ he says.

‘Yeah!’ George says. ‘Wanna come up?’

‘You gotta know the password,’ Brandon adds.

The kid thinks about it, and then says, in a solemn tone, ‘Butts.’

Brandon and George confer about it in whispers while he waits, and then George turns back to him and tells him he can come up.

The kid leaps up the ladder. ‘I’m Patrick,’ he announces. ‘What are we playing?’

They end up playing Knights and Dragons with him until Brandon’s mama comes to herd them all inside for juice.

Patrick’s from Canada, Brandon finds out. ‘That’s _so_ far away,’ he says, eyes wide. ‘Were there polar bears?’

Patrick laughs. ‘Canada doesn’t have polar bears.’ When Brandon looks disappointed, he adds, ‘we had moose though, and they’re _this_ tall.’ He stands on his tip toes and stretches his hands as high as he can reach. ‘Even taller than that,’ he corrects.

Brandon feels his eyes go wide. ‘Wow,’ he says.

Patrick launches into a story about the time his dad almost hit a moose with his truck, and Brandon listens, completely caught up in it.

By the time Patrick’s dad comes to pick him up, it’s almost dark outside, and Patrick’s graduated to the time a moose hit a train so hard it knocked it clean off the rails. ‘Mooses are _giant_ ,’ Patrick says, making a huge circle with his arms.

Patrick’s dad has to chase him out, apologising to Brandon’s mama with a grin. She waves it off.

Brandon hears Patrick asking, ‘Can I come play tomorrow?’ on the way out of the house.

‘Can he?’ he asks his mama. ‘I like Patrick, can he come play tomorrow?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ his mama says, smoothing his hair down.

Brandon grins.

-

ii.

‘No, trust me, this is gonna be awesome,’ Patrick says, pulling a box of matches out of his pocket.

Brandon is unconvinced.

‘Why are we even making smores?’ he asks.

‘Because it’s your birthday, stupid. We gotta have smores. That’s how birthdays _work_.’

‘Hmm,’ Brandon says, and picks up a marshmallow, shoves it all in his mouth at once.

Patrick tips the sticks and leaves into the foil tray he’s stolen from his mom’s kitchen, and drops a lit match into the tangle.

In hindsight, Brandon’s glad Patrick brought a bucket of water up, too. He would have been really sad if they’d burnt down the treehouse. He’s less glad about his eyebrows, but his mama tells him they’ll probably grow back before he’s done being grounded.

It was still his best birthday ever, he thinks.

-

iii.

When Brandon’s eleven, Patrick misses school one day.

Brandon comes home and finds him in the treehouse, arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes are red, and he sniffles and wipes at his face when Brandon pops his head in through the floor.

Brandon drops down next to Patrick quietly, and nudges him with his shoulder. Patrick sniffs again and nudges back, and they sit in silence for a while.

‘Mom went back to Canada,’ Patrick says, voice watery and thin. ‘I don’t think she’s coming back.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Brandon says. He puts his arms around Patrick awkwardly, and Patrick leans into him.

They sit like that until Patrick starts shifting uncomfortably. ‘My ass is asleep,’ he says. ‘I don’t think I can get up.’

Brandon doesn’t mean to laugh at him, but he can’t keep a straight face. Patrick starts to smile too, until they’re both rolling around the floor of the treehouse. ‘Oh no,’ Patrick gasps. ‘The feeling’s coming back, it’s waking up, my entire ass feels like static.’

It just makes Brandon laugh harder.

They don’t talk about Patrick’s mom after that. Brandon’s mama gives him a big kiss on the cheek and tells him she loves him and if he or his dad need anything that they come on over.

-

iv.

Brandon’s in the treehouse because he’s banking on no one thinking to look there.

They haven’t used it in years, anyway, and it’s kind of wild up here. There’s a branch starting to grow through the floor, and there are dead leaves everywhere. Brandon clears a corner and slumps down and thinks.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t look here?’ Patrick asks him, coming up the ladder.

Brandon shrugs, and looks away.

‘What’s up?’ Patrick asks him, kicking more leaves away and sitting in front of him, cross legged.

'Nothing,’ Brandon says, sullen. He scowls at nothing in particular.

Patrick holds his hands up in surrender. ‘Okay, okay,’ he says. He drops them, and shuffles closer. ‘Something at school?’

Brandon shakes his head.

‘At home, then? Something George said?’

Brandon shakes his head. Patrick pauses.

‘...Something I did?’

‘No,’ Brandon says, and jams his chin into his left knee, stares at Patrick’s feet.

‘Okay,’ Patrick says. ‘Well, if you ever wanna tell me, you know where to find me, yeah?’

Brandon says nothing, right up until when Patrick’s about to disappear down the ladder, and then, ‘I’m gay,’ he says.

Patrick stops. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Okay.’ He pauses, like he has something else he wants to say.

Brandon won’t look at him. ‘George is gonna hate me,’ he says, dully.

Patrick comes back over to sit in front of him, reaches out for one of his hands. ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘He didn’t hate me.’

That shocks Brandon into looking up. ‘But what about Ashleigh?’ he asks.

Patrick shrugs. ‘I like girls and boys. It’s a thing, apparently.’

Brandon thinks about that. ‘I don’t think I do. Like girls, I mean.’

Patrick smiles at him. ‘That’s okay.’

Brandon frowns. ‘Really?’

Patrick looks a little sad at that. ‘Sure it is.’

‘Oh,’ Brandon says, looking at his hands.

‘You okay?’ Patrick asks, nudging at him.

‘I… think so,’ Brandon says. Patrick offers him another smile, and gets a tiny one in return.

‘You gonna stop hiding up here?’

‘In a bit,’ Brandon says. ‘I’m just gonna… stay up here for a while. I’ll be down soon.’

Patrick ruffles his hair and makes him squirm away. ‘If you don’t come down soon, your mom says I can eat your dinner.’

‘Does the entire world know I’m up here?’ Brandon asks, indignant.

‘Nah,’ Patrick says. ‘I’m just good at finding you.’ He winks, and starts heading back down the ladder. ‘You probably have like twenty minutes before she pronounces you dead and starts handing out your belongings, though.’

-

v.

When Brandon’s fifteen, he and Patrick spend the summer working for Patrick’s dad in the day, and fixing the treehouse up in the evenings.

They finish it just as it’s starting to get dark one night, and lie sprawled across the floor, newly cleared of leaves and moss. It smells vaguely of varnish.

Patrick vanishes into his house for a couple of minutes and comes back in a soft hoodie, pockets clinking gently. It’s Brandon’s first beer. He takes one mouthful and spits it out onto the grass below. Patrick laughs at him until there are tears in his eyes.

‘Shut up,’ Brandon says. ‘Beer is gross, it’s a conspiracy.’

Patrick arches an eyebrow, but he’s still snickering.

‘No, seriously,’ Brandon insists. ‘You can’t tell me anyone actually enjoys this stuff.’

'Yeah, you got me,’ Patrick admits. ‘Beer is a giant conspiracy theory, created to trick people into early onset alcoholism.’

‘I _knew_ it,’ Brandon says, and pours his beer out over the side.

Patrick keeps hold of his, takes a pull every now and again.

‘So,’ Patrick says, when it’s half gone. ‘How’s Andrew?’

Brandon colours. ‘Fuck off,’ he says. ‘We’re just friends.’

Patrick just looks at him.

‘He’s got a girlfriend,’ Brandon insists. ‘He’s not interested. We’re just friends.’

‘You wanna be more though, right?’ Patrick asks. He tosses the empty bottle over the side, lets it land in the grass softly.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Brandon mutters.

Patrick drops it.

‘The guys on the team have all had girlfriends,’ Brandon says suddenly. ‘Smitty got to _second base_ this weekend.’

Patrick says nothing.

‘What was your first kiss like?’ Brandon asks.

‘Fucking awful,’ Patrick says easily. He lies down, puts his hands behind his head, tilts his chin to look at Brandon. ‘I was like thirteen, I didn’t have a clue what was happening. I think I bit her.’

‘Thirteen,’ Brandon says, mournfully.

Patrick sits up again. Brandon realises how close they are. Patrick reaches out, grips at the back of Brandon’s neck loosely. ‘What are you doing?’ Brandon asks.

‘Tell me if this isn’t okay,’ Patrick says, and pulls him into a soft kiss. Brandon closes his eyes and just lets Patrick kiss him gently, sucking on his lower lip a little. He pulls away too soon, and Brandon opens his eyes, looks at Patrick, confused.

‘Why--’ he starts.

Patrick shrugs. ‘I wanted you to get your first kiss from someone who you trust. You shouldn’t get a sucky first kiss, like I did.’

‘You have a very high estimation of your abilities,’ Brandon says. It probably would have sounded better if he wasn’t a little breathless, but Patrick laughs quietly at him.

‘You didn’t bite me, so we’re already doing better than I did with Alexis.’

Brandon laughs at that. Patrick’s hand is still on the back of his neck. ‘Your hand is fuckin’ icy, man,’ he says, shrugging it off.

Patrick smirks.

Brandon knows that look.

He ends up on his belly on the floor with Patrick sticking his cold hands up his shirt while he struggles, calls him all kinds of names his mama would wash his mouth out with soap for. Patrick starts tickling him when he stops struggling, and Brandon bucks and arches his back, tries to throw Patrick off, almost hysterical with laughter.

‘You’re the worst person ever,’ he says, when the playfight has subsided. He’s on his back with his head resting on one of Patrick’s thighs. Patrick has his hand in Brandon’s hair, playing with the loose strands absent mindedly.

‘Probably,’ Patrick agrees. ‘That’s why you keep me around.’

-

vi.

Patrick goes to college in Chicago.

Brandon doesn’t google the distance between here and there, but if he did, he’d know it was four hundred and sixty one miles.

It’s the night before he’s due to leave, and Brandon can’t find him.

He texts him eventually, and his phone buzzes a minute or so later. _In the treehouse_.

‘Hiding from me?’ Brandon asks when he climbs up there.

Patrick half smiles. ‘Hiding from your mother. She keeps trying to give me a motherly talk about college girls.’

Brandon laughs at that. ‘She’s doing that to George now. I escaped on account of me being both innocently young and also aggressively homosexual.’

That makes Patrick laugh, and Brandon shoves at his shoulder as he drops to the floor next to him. They sit in silence when they’re done jostling for space for a few minutes.

‘God, I’m gonna miss this place,’ Patrick says, tipping his head up.

‘Bullshit,’ Brandon says. ‘You hate this ass backwards town.’

‘This treehouse,’ Patrick clarifies, rolling his eyes. ‘Gonna be weird living somewhere where it’s not three houses down.’

‘You’ll get over it,’ Brandon says, teasing. ‘Find a nice girl to fuck and forget all about this place.’

Patrick pulls a face, but doesn’t say anything. Brandon feels awkward, lapses back into silence.

‘Gonna miss you, too,’ Patrick says, suddenly. He won’t meet Brandon’s eyes.

Brandon nudges him with his shoulder. ‘I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna come back and visit, right?’

‘Every holiday,’ Patrick promises, and then neither of them talk again.

Eventually, it gets cold and completely dark, and they have to retreat inside. They stand at the base of the treehouse, shivering. Patrick reaches out and pulls Brandon into a tight, almost suffocating hug.

When they separate, Patrick rests his forehead against Brandon’s.

‘I’m gonna miss you so much,’ Brandon says, almost whispering. Patrick closes his eyes, parts his lips, just a little bit, and then he pulls away.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back soon. Christmas. I promise.’

‘Okay,’ Brandon says. ‘As long as you promise.’ He smiles, and Patrick smiles back, putting his hand on the side of Brandon’s neck, brushing the edge of his jaw with his thumb before pulling his hood up and heading back towards his own house. Brandon watches him leave.

-

vii.

Patrick doesn’t come home for Christmas.

Or Spring Break.

Brandon doesn’t see Patrick until July 4th of next year.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he asks, arms folded. Patrick flushes.

‘I got an internship,’ he says.

‘That stopped you from being able to pick up the phone?’

‘I figured you’d be busy,’ Patrick says, looking at his feet. ‘I figured you had better things to do.’

Brandon s so unimpressed. ‘You’re an idiot,’ he says.

Patrick looks up. ‘...I am?’ Then he pauses. ‘I mean. I am. Biggest idiot ever. Ever. Forgive me?’

Brandon glares for another couple of seconds, and then his face creases into a laugh. He takes a couple of steps forward and throws his arms around Patrick. ‘You’re forgiven, I guess.’

Patrick’s hands are cold even through Brandon’s sweater. ‘Man,’ I haven’t missed that,’ he tells him, shuddering. ‘Your hands are fuckin’ weird, dude.’

‘They have ruined many a hookup,’ Patrick agrees, mournfully. Brandon’s gut twists at that, and he ignores it.

‘You coming up?’ Brandon asks, gesturing at the treehouse. ‘If your fat ass even fits up there anymore, I mean. It’s called the Freshman Fifteen, not the Freshman Completely Let Yourself Go.’

‘My ass is perfect,’ Patrick declares. ‘The entire world is jealous of my ass.’

Brandon snorts, and starts climbing.

They’ve watched the fireworks from Brandon’s treehouse every year since Brandon was seven. Sometimes George would join them, sometimes not. They’d take candy, sometimes popcorn, sometimes Patrick’s dad’s brownies if they can sneak them.

‘You drinking beer yet?’ Patrick asks, pulling two brown bottles out of his messenger bag.

Brandon shrugs, but reaches out for one anyway. ‘Still gross,’ he confirms, after the first mouthful, but he takes a second one anyway, stretches out on the floor of the treehouse and pillows his head with the arm not holding a beer.

‘You’re gross,’ Patrick mutters, kicking at him until he shifts enough that Patrick can lie next to him. There’s a small patch of clear sky they can see from this corner of the treehouse, and it lets them see the fireworks from the town display a couple of blocks over.

It’s the same display that it’s been since the first time they did this, lots of red, white and blue.

‘What’s Chicago like?’ Brandon asks a couple of minutes into the display.

‘Big,’ Patrick says. ‘Fucking cold. Lots of people.’ He stops for a second. ‘I met someone,’ he says, eventually.

Brandon flinches. ‘What’s she called?’ he asks.

‘Adam,’ Patrick says, pointedly.

‘Oh.’ Brandon shifts. ‘Sorry.’ He feels Patrick shrug, flush against him.

‘We broke up last week,’ Patrick says.

Brandon says he’s sorry again. Patrick shrugs again. Brandon feels a little bit like he’s caught in a loop.

Another firework interrupts them. Patrick turns his head to look at Brandon. Their noses are a couple of inches apart. 'You gonna ask me why?' Patrick asks.

'It's... None of my business, isn't it?' Brandon says, confused.

'Because he wasn't you,' Patrick says, and he meets Brandons gaze properly and holds it. Brandon's jaw drops a little bit.

'I-- but-- I'm-- oh.'

‘George told me you weren’t seeing anyone,’ Patrick says.

‘I’m not.’ Patrick’s close enough that Brandon can see how green his eyes are, even in the dark.

‘Okay, Patrick says, and smiles, wide and honest and nervous.

'Gonna kiss you now,' he says, but he pauses, just for a second, long enough for Brandon to nod, and then he's putting his beer down and rolling onto his side so he can kiss him properly, one hand right on his jaw. His hands are still icy.

Patrick’s a good kisser, thorough, a little rough, a little mean, and he bites down on Brandon’s lower lip, smiling. Brandon bites back, and twists so he’s rolled them, is half lying on Patrick. He presses soft kisses along the edge of his jaw.

Patrick’s hands slip down to his waist, slide under the hem of his sweater, and Brandon shivers. He can feel Patrick smirking. ‘You’re terrible,’ Brandon says, barely above a whisper.

‘What?’ Patrick asks. When Brandon tilts his head to look at him, he’s wearing his best innocent impression. ‘I’m just warming them up before I get into your pants. I’m nice like that,’ he finishes, pointedly, and lifts his head up to kiss Brandon again.

They make out for a long time, but Patrick’s hands never get any warmer, and it’s a shock when he slides one of them underneath Brandon’s waistband, slowly. ‘This is not going to work,’ Brandon says, pulling away. ‘I’m gonna blow you.’

Patrick goes a little wide eyed. ‘Uh?’ he says, intelligently.

‘Your hands are too fucking cold, I’m gonna get frostbite of the dick or something. You can get me off when we go inside.’

‘...Okay,’ Patrick says. His eyes are still wide, and they only get wider when Brandon settles in the vee of his legs, popping the button on his jeans and easing the zip down.

Brandon wastes no time, swallows it straight down just to hear the choked off sound Patrick makes. He loves sucking dick, loves the weight of it on his tongue, the slightly bitter taste in the back of his throat, loves feeling hands in his hair, not pulling, just reminding him that they’re there.

He especially loves when people are as responsive as Patrick is, hips jumping into it when his nose bumps against the flat of his pelvis. Brandon wraps his hands around the sharp cut of Patrick’s hips, and pulls almost all the way off, pointing his tongue and dragging it up the underside of his dick, along the fat vein there. Patrick’s incredibly vocal, spilling all kinds of filth from his mouth about Brandon, and whining every time Brandon does something new with his tongue, and it’s not long before he’s tugging on Brandon’s hair, gasping, ‘Gonna come, gonna--’

Brandon takes as much of it as he can, spits it over the side of the treehouse when he’s done, washes his mouth out with beer and spits that too. When he’s done, he twists to look over at Patrick, still flat on his back, dick flushed and softening. ‘You alive?’ he asks, grinning.

‘Nope,’ Patrick says. ‘I’m dead, you’ve killed me.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Brandon muses. His voice is rough and scratchy, makes him sound older. ‘Guess I’ll have to get myself off.’

Patrick lifts his head up to look at him. Brandon starts undoing his jeans, working a hand inside. ‘We’re going inside,’ Patrick says, sitting up, tucking himself back into his underwear. ‘I’m dunking my hands in hot water, and then I’m going to put them all over you, and it’s going to be _great_.’

Brandon laughs, and does his jeans back up. ‘It’s a good job my parents are out of town then, isn’t it?’

-

viii.

Patrick can’t stay all summer. Brandon knew that from the start.

Still sucks though, knowing that he’s leaving again tomorrow.

It’s the middle of the day, sticky-hot and humid, and they’re in the treehouse, sprawled on their backs. Patrick’s hair is sticking to his forehead, and the glasses next to them are damp with condensation. Brandon’s half asleep, head on Patrick’s belly while he runs his fingers through it.

'You’re gonna come back this time, right?’ Brandon murmurs. Patrick’s hand stills.

'I promise,’ Patrick says. ‘I’ll be home for Thanksgiving for sure.’

‘Real Thanksgiving, or Canadian?’ Brandon asks, opening one eye and tilting his head up to look at him.

Patrick twists his mouth, smiling. ‘How about both?’

‘I guess that would be okay,’ Brandon says. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to pencil you in for both weekends.’

Patrick laughs, and flicks his ear with a finger. Brandon fights back, and it’s too hot for this, and they’re probably too old for this, but they end up rolling across the floor, wrestling.

Brandon wins, pins Patrick’s hips down with his knees, has his wrists caught above his head. He reaches down and kisses Patrick, messy, open mouthed, until Patrick starts to arch up against him, rolling his hips.

‘Nope,’ Brandon says, breaking off the kiss. ‘You get that when you come home again.’

‘Are you blackmailing me into coming to see you?’ Patrick asks, mock-outraged.

Brandon hums in thought, presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth. ‘Call it incentive, I guess.’

 


End file.
